


Fires

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-02-15
Updated: 2001-02-15
Packaged: 2018-11-21 00:18:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11346105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: A meeting, a dark alley. Read to find out more.





	Fires

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Fires by Broken Angel

Author: Broken Angel  
Title: Fires  
Feedback:   
Webpage: http://araxdelan.tripod.com/BrokenAngel/BrokenAngel.html  
TotalParts: 1  
Status: Complete  
Pairings: M/K  
Rating: R  
Spoilers: Tunguska/Terma  
Summary: A meeting, a dark alley. Read to find out more.  
AuthorNotes: Please send feedback! I live for it!  
Warnings: If you're here, I'm just going to assume that you like this stuff.  
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me, unfortunately. They belong to Chris Carter and 1013 Productions, and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

"To make a final conquest of all me//Love did compose so sweet an enemy//In whom both beauties to my death agree//Joining themselves in final harmony..."  
        -Andrew Marvell

The dull greyness of twilight brings your face into sharp relief, the elegant shape of your features standing out from the pale skin of your flesh like the shadows that play over the gleaming bareness of a skull, terrifying in their deadly beauty.

The darkness dances in the slight hollows under your cheekbones, in the delicate beat of the pulse at your throat, and in the shadows under your eyes, etched so deeply as to resemble scars, permanently engraved into your visage by sights no man should see.

Your aristocratic mouth is twisted into a merciless smile - the ruthless amusement of a madman - but the jade glitter of your eyes is as cold and as sane as diamonds.

You are perfectly still as I approach, leaning against the wall, the pallor of your face - so white against the darkness of your soul - reminding me of some pagan deity; the type who feeds off blood and terror, lowering your mouth to the willing veins of your victims, gently releasing their empty shells into oblivion with a slow smile, stained wine-red with death.

Your eyes shine with black amusement, mocking and cruel, and the vicious twist of your mouth sends a shudder through my veins.

You move suddenly, as quickly and as silently as a panther. Your face is now mere inches from mine, and you look directly into my eyes, moving aside the night-black curtain of your lashes.

I can see the uncharted green depths of your eyes in their entirety, layer upon layer of deception and death, each more blood-stained than the last.

What I see there makes me want to strike you, to call down upon your head all of the vengeance for all of your sins.

But I can see other sins in those verdant depths - the sins of others, of crimes committed *against* you, not *by* you, branded into your psyche.

I can't see what they are exactly - you control yourself far to well for that - but I know they're there all the same, hidden deep within the fathomless echoes of your soul, like live coals concealed in the seemingly dead ashes of a fire - the lurking sparks of flame that destroy fires as green as your eyes.

Those hidden fires have burned you to the bone many times, but only one of those deadly embers has made its mark visible on the almost flawless structure of your body.

It shows in your movements, which, though far from awkward, are not as smooth as they once were. The emptiness where your arm once was burns you with each slight imperfection of motion; sinews, bone, muscle and blood replaced by nothingness - or worse, by unfeeling metal and plastic which is never - *can* never - be a part of you.

When I grieve for you - which is often - it is this loss for which I mourn the most, because it leaves you vulnerable - and you are not a creature of vulnerabilities.

You destroyed that part of yourself long ago.

A car passes us, its headlights recalling me to myself, to the actuality of now.

The heat radiating from your body - so close to mine that I can smell you, the faint scent of masculinity and aftershave sending tingles of electricity along my every nerve - is almost unbearable, as is the electricity in the air between us, time frozen, inches apart, like the threat of a kiss.

Unbidden, my lips close the distance to yours, brushing softly against your firm mouth. Your response is swift and decisive, your hand cupping the back of my neck, pulling me closer, crushing out mouths together, slipping your tongue between my lips with a violent passion that sears my soul.

I respond in kind, tasting you, learning your mouth with mine, our tongues tangling in a burning fight for dominance.

Not even your kisses are gentle.

If they were, I don't think I could bear it.

Your mouth tastes of cigarettes and of the long, slow burn of liquor, with a subtle undertaste that reminds me of flames, scorching my senses, and leaving me dazed, hungry for more.

You pull away first, and I am left shaking and dizzy, lips still slightly parted, unable to breathe, let alone think.

Your face is mask-like, the cruel smile vanished, leaving only your features, shell-like and carefully empty of both emotion and expression.

Your eyes are motionless green pools, frozen over, all traces of heat vanished from them, all traces of hidden layers gone, only the jade-chill of ice remaining beneath your lashes.

You reach inside your leather jacket and pull out a package which you then drop at my feet. It lands with a muffled thud, and I bend to pick it up. When I straighten, you are gone, having blended in, becoming just another shadow in the ever-deepening night to which you will always belong, silent, invisible, and deadly.

Following your example, I, too, turn away, walking back towards the well-lit safety of familiar territory, one hand gripping the package, the other tracing my lips, burning my fingers on the lingering flames of your mouth.

~ Fin ~


End file.
